Never Say Never to an Earl (Heart of Enquiry Book 5)

by Grace Callaway

  The very idea of separation angered him. They’d shared her bed every night thus far—and some of the mornings and afternoons as well. And despite the heat burgeoning in his loins, it wasn’t just about lust. It also had to do with having her close, knowing that she would be by his side when he awakened. That she would be by his side period.

  You’re in a dangerous mood tonight. You can’t risk it, his inner voice said. What if you expose the disaster that you are?

  He would have to leave, he decided. Go to the apartment that was waiting for him.

  Just as he was searching for his portmanteau—where did Strickley hide the damned thing?—the barrier between their rooms parted, and Polly came into his domain. She was wearing her chintz wrapper, her hair loose and damp from her bath. She looked so sweet and uncertain and determined that he went hard immediately beneath his dressing gown.

  She stopped a few paces short of where he was standing by a chaise longue. She faced him, her clear eyes taking him in. “May we talk, Sinjin?”

  “It’s not a good time.” I have to get out of here. I want to fuck you so badly, and I don’t trust myself.

  “Clearly, your stepmama’s visit has upset you, and you said we would talk about it later,” she reminded him.

  “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “I really think we ought to,” she said earnestly. “My mama always said it’s not good to go to bed angry.”

  “Well, I’m not married to your mama,” he said, sounding like a right bastard. Rein it in, man. “If you’ll recall, we promised each other privacy in our marriage. I’m asking you to drop the matter.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip, her wide, clear eyes searching his face—and, devil and damn, that sent another surge of heat to his groin.

  She came a step closer. “I know we agreed to privacy, but I can tell you’re upset,” she said softly. “I just want to help.”

  She touched his arm, and that light caress over his bulging bicep snapped his self-control.

  “You want to help me?” he said.

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Then take off your robe.”

  Her lashes fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings, her throat bobbing in the vee of her robe. “I think we ought to talk first—”

  “I think we ought to fuck.”

  Color rose up her cheeks. “Sinjin, that word—”

  “Is what we’re going to do if you stay. If you don’t want to get tupped, then get out of here and leave me to my peace,” he said flatly.

  It was the best he could do to get rid of her. Opposing forces tore at him. He wanted to protect her from his devilish mood—wanted her to leave. He also wanted to stake claim to what was his, to screw his cock inside her snug little hole until she screamed his name…

  He stood, tensed and aroused as hell, waiting for her to leave.

  Her hands went to the belt of her robe. In a fluid motion, she untied it and shrugged off the chaste covering... and, God Almighty, she wore nothing beneath. Saliva pooled in his mouth as his gaze roved hungrily over her round, coral-tipped breasts, her flaring hips, that tawny nest between her thighs. Her shoulders drew back, and the defiance in her eyes aroused him even more than her other charms.

  “Well, are we or aren’t we?” she said.

  It’s over.

  “We bloody are,” he growled.

  He tore off his robe, shuddering when her gaze caressed his rampant erection. He yanked her into his arms, groaning as skin met skin, their mouths fusing together. Desire combusted, pulling the air from his lungs, his brain. He became the animal need clawing at his gut.

  He swung her into his arms, depositing her onto the nearest piece of furniture—the chaise. Sprawled on her back against the forest green silk, she was a Maenad awaiting his lust. Going down on one knee, he jerked her thighs apart, taking a moment to savor the silkiness of her skin against his palms before he buried his face in her feminine garden.

  Her hot, earthy flavor drenched his senses. Her taste, combined with her heavy-lidded eyes watching him as he licked her slit, was a potent aphrodisiac. He wanted her pleasure like he wanted nothing else.

  “Pet your tits, love,” he rasped. “Help me pleasure you.”

  She acquiesced, shyly at first, then with growing abandon. As he tongued her pussy, she molded her luscious mounds in her palms. Her slim fingers circled the taut peaks, the sight so enticing that he had to join her in self-pleasure. He fisted his cock, frigging himself slowly, delight ruffling along his spine.

  “Yes, that’s it, sweeting,” he breathed against her damp flesh. “Play with those pretty nipples. Doesn’t that feel good?”

  She moaned as she plucked at those coral buds in earnest. To reward her boldness, he delved upward to her love knot, tickling it with his tongue and then suckling hard. Her hips bucked, and she cried out, coming in wet surges against his mouth.

  When she calmed, he went to the head of the chaise. Putting one knee on the cushions, he speared his fingers through her hair, guiding her lips to his jutting prick.

  “Make it wet, love,” he whispered.

  She did, with an enthusiasm that made him rock back on his heels. Under his tutelage, her oral skills had grown in leaps and bounds. Her tongue circled his sensitive head before she slid him inside her mouth. His fingers tightened in her hair as she engulfed his shaft with moist fire, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on him as if he were a delicious treat. After several seed-summoning passes, she released him with a pop, the lewd sound making him growl. When her tongue searched out his stones, licking delicately at the seam, he could take no more.

  He pulled away, returning to the foot of the chaise. He grabbed hold of her hips, hoisting her onto her hands and knees. He saw her startled look backward at him the instant before he entered her in one deep thrust. A groan tore from his chest at the hot clasp, the dewy slickness of her welcome. He withdrew, loving the way she moaned in protest, then slammed in again, deeper and deeper still. Harder and faster, the rhythm primal, inevitable.

  “Aye, love, push your cunny against my cock,” he growled. “Fuck me as I’m fucking you.”

  Her cry echoed his own animal delight. Even as he mounted her tight little sheath, she rode him back, his match in every way. His mate and only his. His balls slapped her lips in a desperate cadence, the first spasms of her crisis making his eyes roll back in his head.

  Her bliss summoned his own finish. His body curving over hers, he pounded into her pussy, shouting out as he ejaculated. He nuzzled her nape, feeling her shiver as he continued to slowly thrust, still hard inside her. Their mingled essence overflowed her sex, an erotic trickle down her thigh.

  He found her ear with his lips and whispered one word. “More?”

  She shivered, and the devil in him smiled.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Polly awoke to the watery rays of dawn. Beside her, Sinjin was sprawled on his stomach, asleep… finally. Her well-exercised muscles fluttered as memories of the night assailed her.

  Sinjin had been relentless in his drive for pleasure. He’d radiated need, desire flooding his aura, dazzling and limitless. She had never imagined an aura of such intensity… such unrestrained power. He was always a passionate lover, but last night he’d transcended even himself—and in doing so, unleashed a side of her that, in the light of morning, caused a flush to steal beneath her skin.

  She’d climaxed so many times, in so many different positions, that she’d lost count.

  Yet as potent as their lovemaking was, it didn’t take away her worry. Why wouldn’t he talk to her? Tell her what he was upset about? The visit with Her Grace had undoubtedly unmoored him, yet instead of sharing his feelings, he’d invoked their clause on privacy.

  She bit her lip. She knew what she’d signed on for so she ought to let it be. At the same time, she wanted to ease his troubles—which she could only do if he let her in.

  Sinjin stirred, turning over. His gaze found hers, and the slumberous sa
tisfaction in those blue depths melted her insides. Her pulse raced as she saw vibrant energy flaring to life around him.

  Good heavens, after last night, he couldn’t possibly want more—

  Under the covers, his arm snaked around her waist, dragging her flush against his burly warmth. The unmistakable ridge of his cockstand pressed against her belly. His hands clamped over her bottom in a proprietary fashion.

  “Good morning,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice.

  Even as her satiated nerves awakened to his touch, she knew that succumbing to passion wasn’t the answer to their problems. She tried to wriggle away. “Sinjin, wait. We have to talk.”

  “Go ahead and talk.” He nipped at her earlobe, his hands wandering. “I’m listening.”

  “I can’t concentrate when you do that,” she gasped.

  “Mmm, I can feel my seed inside you.” The randy light in his eyes made her heart palpitate as did the wicked stirring of his finger. “You’re soft and wet—ready for me.”

  “Sinjin—wait. I’m… sore,” she said desperately.

  “I’ll be gentle.”

  “But we really ought to talk first—”

  The rapping at the door made them both still.

  “Why the bloody hell is someone knocking at this hour?” he growled.

  She had no idea, but she was glad for the interruption. She jumped out of bed and snatched her wrapper from the floor. Tying it securely, she called, “Come in.”

  It was Harvey. One look at the normally unflappable butler’s aura filled her with apprehension.

  “Is something amiss?” she said.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, my lady,” he said in flustered tones, “but an urgent message just arrived from Mrs. Hunt. She requests your presence at the academy. Apparently, one of the foundlings has gone missing.”

  ~~~

  Sinjin accompanied his wife to the Hunt Academy. Upon their arrival, they were greeted by a pale Mrs. Hunt, who led them directly into her office.

  “We think Maisie left sometime in the night,” she said without preamble. “The last time anyone saw her was at lights out. This morning, her bed was empty. Mr. Hunt will be back shortly—he and some men are out in the neighborhood looking for her—but I sent for you because you know her best of anyone, Polly. Do you know where she might have gone?”

  “No.” Polly’s brow furrowed. “But it’s unlike Maisie to leave without telling anyone.”

  Sinjin had awakened feeling on edge, and seeing Polly’s concern sent a charge through him. She was his wife. It was his job to protect her from the worries of the world.

  “Have all the children been questioned?” he said.

  “Yes. And no one saw her leave. Or knows why she would go in the first place.” Mrs. Hunt’s hands knotted in front of her. “As far as anyone knew, Maisie was content here—”

  “Wait—Tim,” Polly breathed.

  “Tim?” Sinjin said.

  “Her older brother. He runs with a band of mudlarks,” she explained. “Maisie mentioned that since their leader died, there’s been a struggle for power. Tim was trying to protect the younger ones from getting caught in the crossfire. When Maisie was telling me about it, I worried that he might end up in danger. Do you think she caught wind that something had happened and went to him?”

  “That sounds like a tenuous situation,” Mrs. Hunt said worriedly.

  At that moment, Hunt strode in. The brawny fellow had attended Sinjin’s wedding and birthday fete, and the two exchanged brief nods.

  Mrs. Hunt rushed over to her husband. “Any luck, Gavin?”

  “Sorry, buttercup.” He shook his head. “No one has seen her in the neighborhood.”

  “Polly thinks that Maisie’s disappearance might have something to do with Tim,” his wife blurted.

  As Polly recounted her story, the scar on Hunt’s cheek tightened. Grimly, he said, “I know the flash house used by the Larks. I’ll go have a look.”

  “You must be careful,” Mrs. Hunt said fretfully.

  “You can take a man out of the stews, but not the stews out of a man.” Hunt’s wink was roguish but his touch gentle as he tucked a wayward blond curl behind his lady’s ear. “Don’t worry, love, I know what I’m about.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Sinjin said.

  “But it might be dangerous—” Polly began.

  “I can take care of myself, kitten.” Restless energy gnawed at him; he needed to get out, to do something. “We’ll get your Maisie back safely where she belongs.”

  ~~~

  “Now a nob such as yourself probably ain’t acquainted with the likes of a flash house. It won’t be a rose garden. So if you’d rather stay in the carriage—”

  “I’m going in.” Hunt was beginning to grate on Sinjin’s nerves.

  Somewhere during the journey into the heart of the rookery, the other man had shed his polished manners. He now sounded and acted like a native of the rough enclave. Alert aggression glinted in his tawny gaze as their conveyance pulled to a stop at their destination.

  But Sinjin was no lordling with lily white hands. He might not have sprung from these dirty streets, but he knew violence and how to fend for himself. Right now, he wanted to fight, his muscles flexing in anticipation of a good row.

  “Suit yourself. But take this.” Hunt passed him a pistol, shoving another into his own boot. “And try not to get knifed or shot, eh?”

  Having dispensed that helpful advice, Hunt exited the carriage, instructing his pair of footmen to keep a discreet watch. He led the way to the flash house, a three-storey building with soot-covered windows and a grimy façade. It leaned crookedly to one side, looking as if a strong wind might send it crashing into the adjacent building. Hunt shoved open the door and strode in like he owned the place, Sinjin taking his cue from the other’s lead.

  It took Sinjin’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom inside. The stench of grease and rotted things assailed his nostrils. Three men lay snoring at a trestle table, empty bottles of blue ruin lolling around them.

  “Bloody hell.”

  At Hunt’s low utterance, Sinjin followed the other man’s gaze. His stomach lurched.

  Holy Mother of God.

  At the far end of the room, a lad was strung up to a flogging pole, his wrists bound above his head. Even at this distance, Sinjin saw the bloody welts and bruises over the boy’s bared torso. He recognized Maisie, the flower girl from his wedding, flanking one side of the injured lad whilst a tow-headed boy stood on the other. The two were trying to coax the wounded boy to drink from a cup and whipped around as Hunt and Sinjin strode over.

  “Mr. Hunt. My lord,” Maisie squeaked.

  “Tell us what’s happened, child,” Hunt said.

  Sinjin admired the other man’s controlled tone because, up close, he could see just how badly the boy had been whipped, his own scars tautening in reflex. Rage bubbled up, his fingers curling. He wanted to kill whoever had done this.

  “They b-beat Tim. Me and Patrick, we’ve been tr-trying to give ’im water, but ’e won’t ave any.” Maisie’s voice hitched, tears spilling down her freckled cheeks. “Is ’e d-dead?”

  Sinjin was already untying the boy, easing him to the ground. Hunt ran his hands gently over the lanky, battered frame, and a faint moan escaped from Tim’s cracked lips.

  “His injuries look worse than they are, and his pulse is steady. He’ll be fine once we get him tended to,” Hunt said.

  Maisie gave a relieved sob.

  Stripping off his jacket, Sinjin wrapped it around Tim.

  “Who did this?” he bit out to the other boy.

  “The name’s Patrick, guv, and it ’appened like this. Since the Prince o’ the Larks cocked ’is toes, a cutthroat by the name o’ Crooke fancied ’imself as the next ruler o’ the roost. Thing is, Crooke ain’t got the Prince’s ’eart or ’is brains, but ’e’s got plenty o’ brawn—or least ’e’s got the coin to ’ire some ruffians to do ’is dirty work.” The boy shot
a disgusted look at the men who remained comatose at the table. “We could ’andle Crooke being a brute and pushing us to comb the tides all ’ours o’ the day and night, but we drew the line—least Tim did—when Crooke told us ’e’d made an arrangement to loan us out to Mother Cox.”

  At the mention of the infamous bawd, blood rushed in Sinjin’s ears. He looked at Patrick’s dirt-smudged face, topped with a mop of fair hair; the boy couldn’t be more than ten. “The bastard wanted to force you into the flesh trade?”

  “Aye—and I ain’t signed up to bend o’er for no one,” Patrick said matter-of-factly. “So Tim, ’e stands up for us larks and tells Crooke that we won’t do it, plain and simple. And Crooke ’as ’im beat within an inch o’ ’is life and leaves ’im on the whipping post as an example to us all.” Patrick’s voice trembled for the first time. “I went to fetch Maisie, and we waited ’til Crooke and most o’ ’is gang left and that’s when you found us.”

  “Let’s get Tim back to the school,” Hunt said, his jaw taut, “and I’ll handle Crooke later. Patrick, you’d best come with us.”

  “A king’s ransom couldn’t keep me ’ere,” Patrick said with feeling.

  The door swung open wildly, slamming into the wall. A ginger-haired man with piggish eyes and heavy jowls swaggered in. His barrel chest was encased in embroidered maroon velvet, and he held a polished walking stick in one hand. Five beefy cutthroats trailed behind him, some slapping truncheons against their palms in a menacing cadence.

  “Crooke,” Patrick said, his voice quavering.

  “Look, fellows, we found ourselves some vermin,” Crooke said with a sneer, “and they’re about to scurry away with our goods.”

  “Give us the word, master, and we’ll exterminate ’em,” one of his men boomed.

  Patrick cowered. Pushing the boy behind him, Sinjin bit out, “I invite you to try.”